Impatience
by Shrrgnien
Summary: The one where Miranda's contact is late and she absolutely does not miss Jack. She doesn't. Shut up.


_Your agent is late._

Miranda Lawson was perfectly capable of being patient. She didn't have to like it, but she was _capable_ of it. Impatience led to unfinished projects and incompetence. It meant mere setbacks would frustrate a person to the point of giving up; she had taken control of Lazarus from just such an impatient man. If you weren't willing to spend the time to do a job properly, you would make mistakes. And Miranda did not make mistakes. There was a reason the Lazarus Project had been the most successful Cerberus project to date, and it knew how to fill out a white catsuit like nobody's business.

(_The _only _successful Cerberus project to date_, said a sarcastic voice in her head that sounded disturbingly like Joker. Admittedly it made a very good point.)

Still. It _had _worked perfectly, hadn't it? Frankly with Cerberus' track record she had pulled off a bona fide miracle, though something told her canonization wouldn't be forthcoming. And it had worked because she had been patient and determined.

Which was not to say she didn't have things she would rather be doing than sitting in a balcony corner waiting for a contact who was supposed to be here an hour ago. Shadow Broker or no, Miranda was a busy woman.

Her omnitool buzzed, and she tapped the message icon irritably.

_So is your monthly report. Again._

Miranda rolled her eyes. The Shadow Broker—and really, Liara's new title was a worse-kept secret on the Normandy than Tali's crush on their resident turian, she should be more careful—had offered her a position while Shepard was still in Alliance custody. Being short on credits and in hiding at the time, she'd accepted. Acting as an information-gatherer and inside source on Cerberus' organizational structure suited her; it was what she was doing anyway, and passing along that information allowed her to gather funds for...private projects.

They both knew she was far too valuable to waste as a simple agent, and too high-profile to ever succeed as one anyway. Miranda gathered her own leads on her own time, and Liara let her because her information was always valuable enough to make up for her unreliability. It didn't stop the young asari from being insufferably smug about Miranda's eclectic reporting habits.

She was about to respond when a second message popped up as the first purged itself; untraceable communications.

_The agent has been there for forty-five minutes. You're too obviously waiting for someone; it's making him nervous. Walk around, and try to act natural. He'll find you._

Sighing, Miranda pushed herself to her feet. _You might have mentioned that an hour ago,_ she thought uncharitably as she made to move off. Before she could make a comment, her wrist buzzed again.

_Tip your waiter, Operative. You've been at his table for over an hour and all you've ordered is a glass of water._

Miranda resisted the urge to roll her eyes again, shook her head and tossed a ten-credit chit onto the table. Her Omnitool shut up and the Broker's last messages dissolved themselves, so she assumed the tip was adequate. Maybe Liara would annoy someone else for a few minutes.

Walk around. Well, she supposed she could do that.

While she strolled through the corridors of the upper markets, she clicked absently through some files she'd been meaning to look over; Liara hadsaid to act natural, hadn't she? Of particular interest was one of the many intercepted C-Sec files she'd pilfered from a handful of strategically hacked terminals. Most were worthless, but when hunting a missing person it was a good idea to have access to arrival and departure records just in case. She could hardly risk combing the galaxy for her little sister and never realizing she'd simply arrived on a shuttle.

Her heart stuttered slightly as the terrifying radio silence sprang back to the forefront of her mind, but she tried to set her frantic worry aside; her father was many things but he wouldn't hurt Oriana, not yet. Probably. No. She had to be safe. She _had _to be. Miranda shook herself sharply and focused on the task at hand.

She sighed at the flagged message; a note to investigate more closely the records of a certain Felicia Hannigan, as a random background check had turned up several anomalies. _Sloppy_. Anyone competent would have been able to avoid those when furnishing a false identity. At least they had only flagged her as a potential illegal immigrant and not as having possible Cerberus connections, but with too much scrutiny... She wrote herself a reminder to falsify some transfer and medical records to fill the suspicious holes that had caught C-Sec attention, and pass the details along to Kelly Chambers. The stories would lend her paper-thin disguise some credibility if she was ever questioned.

What? She was fond of Kelly. Everyone was fond of Kelly. The least she could do was give her a chance to start a new life, especially since she'd been the one to shortlist the girl for Project Lazarus in the first place.

Closing the window for now, she wandered along the line of storefronts. The damned Hamlet advertisements were still up—everywhere—but they were at least better than the ads for... whichever Blasto they were on now, she could never keep track. The fish in Kanala's window made her smile, at least.

One of the interchangeable picture windows had a display of jewelry, which was a vaguely interesting break from the monotony. Miranda bit down on a desire to look around and attempt to spot her contact in the crowd. No, she thought, take your time, that's fine, it wasn't as though she had things to do or a sister to save. Normally she didn't mind the market. Today she just wanted to finish this and get _on _with her life.

The jewelry display was quite pretty, at least. It seemed to be a showcase of available cuts and settings; there were a dozen different gems next to half again that many styles of necklace, a handful of rings, a few earrings. Nothing terribly creative, and distinctly human styles. Birthstones, she realized suddenly. Well, maybe the idea would be interesting and fresh to alien customers. Personally she found it a bit trite, though of course she'd sent Oriana a pair of turquoise earrings for her birthday last year. Could she help it if her sister's birthstone also matched her eyes?

Shepard, she was sure, would have said it was a good idea; that some traditions were worth keeping just because they reminded people of home. Jack would have ruined the moment somehow, she was sure. Probably a sarcastic comment about how she never got how the month you were born in had anything to do with a fucking rock or why people gave a shit. And of course she would carefully avoid mentioning that she had no way of knowing when her birthday even was, and something in her eyes would dare you to mention it.

Miranda couldn't help a small smile. Jack was nothing if not honest. After so long with Cerberus it had been... refreshing, really. Annoying as all hell, but there were days she almost missed it. She'd considered checking up on Jack at Grissom Academy, but ultimately decided that it wouldn't be appreciated; she couldn't imagine Jack was eager to speak to _her _again, of all people. Still, talking to her for a few minutes might have helped clear Miranda's head. There had always been something grounding about the woman's arrogant bluntness.

Her wrist buzzed. _Finally_. She pulled up the message expecting directions to meet her contact, and frowned. It was definitely the Shadow Broker; the sender was redacted and any information about the message other than its bare contents was scrambled beyond recognition, but the message itself made no sense. For a moment she wondered if it was in code.

_Jack's birthstone is an opal_, it said.

"How do you know that?" Miranda blurted. "I mean..." She shook her head and typed a reply.

_I don't see how that's relevant to my search._

_I would not recommend Citali's, _came the reply. _Their gems are substandard; they only keep their market niche through novelty and meaningless warranties. I expect that's the reason behind the birthstone gimmick, especially with Earth under attack. Tempe Jewelers on the level below you has much better quality._

Miranda switched the window closed with possibly more force than necessary, turning on her heel and walking away from the display as quickly as she could without attracting attention. The Shadow Broker's bugs were equal parts invaluable resource and paranoia-inducing annoyance. The Shadow Broker herself was much the same.

_You _do _realize how creepy that is,_ she griped.

The reply was immediate, and Miranda could feel Liara smirking from God knows where.

_How else would I maintain my reputation?_

_I was window shopping_, Miranda replied hastily.

_I never suggested otherwise. And I sincerely hope you don't make a habit of playing poker._

Miranda was distracted enough trying to figure out what the hell that was supposed to mean that she almost tripped over a volus going the other direction.

"Excuse me!" he wheezed. "What's—_shrrk_—wrong with—_shrrk_—you?"

"Pardon—" Miranda started.

The volus gave a staticky snort. "Forget it," he muttered. "I guess we're—_shrrk_—invisible now, too. _Shrrk_. Humans. You're all—_shrrk_—racist."

He stalked off, and Miranda decided her life would be easier if she just let that one slide.

_I can't wait for this contact all day,_ she tapped instead into her Omnitool. _Is he coming or not?_

There was no reply, which meant that Liara was busy doing something else, deliberately ignoring her, or the Normandy was on fire. She really hoped the Normandy wasn't on fire. She didn't have time to rebuild Shepard _again_.

It took several minutes of silence for Miranda to get annoyed again. She leaned against a pillar and glanced at the time. An hour and twenty minutes now since they were supposed to meet. Something had clearly gone wrong, and there was something hard and irritating in her shoe.

She frowned.

Very slowly, she felt around the edges of the awkward object in her boot that most definitely had not been there before she'd run into the volus. The one that felt exactly like a hard drive.

She was never going to live this one down, was she?

Her wrist buzzed again. Somehow it managed to do so condescendingly.

_I trust he made himself useful._

"Shut up," Miranda muttered.

_I saw that._ A pause, then: _The information on that hard drive could be invaluable. The individual in question's financial records are not acquired easily or without bloodshed. With any luck they will also prove personally useful to you._

Miranda nodded carefully. It was a long shot that any of this information would give her a lead; while she didn't doubt the skill of Liara's agents, tracking down all of her father's finances would be almost impossible; it would be hard enough digging out the mostly-legitimate ones. Still, he might be less careful with the resources allotted to Oriana's... kidnapping, capture, observation, imprisonment, she didn't _know_. She didn't _know_ what that bastard was doing to _her baby sister_, and it was going to kill her if she didn't get some clue soon.

At the very least, the gaps in the records might give her a hint while she waited for someone to come forward. Sometimes what people ostensibly _weren't _spending money on was just as telling as what they were. She nodded and pushed off from the pillar, setting a brisk pace away from the crowds.

_I'll start analyzing it immediately._

_I'm sure you will. Shadow Broker out._

Miranda stepped around a trio of asari as she began a roundabout route back to her apartment. A full-wall advertisement caught her eye as she waited for them to pass. "Sanctuary" again. It seemed to be on everyone's lips these days. Too good to be true, of course. Nowhere was safe from the Reapers, certainly not anywhere with that kind of publicity. But if it made people feel safer in the meantime, she could hardly begrudge them that. The facility looked comfortable enough.

She wondered where a place like that got its funding.


End file.
